


One apocalypse too late.

by Coloured_Rainbow



Category: Gravity Falls, Rick and Morty
Genre: AU where Stanley doesn't get his memories back, FUCK, M/M, Remember when i said thered be fluff?, This is set after Weirdmageddon, and descriptions of kissing and touching and stuff, but there will be references to sex, fricken old men, gotta love em, i added more chapters..., just some nice grandpa fluff, nothing graphic, stanchez, well fuck theres mire angst than anything, whoops
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-18
Updated: 2019-04-22
Packaged: 2019-06-12 15:47:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15343146
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Coloured_Rainbow/pseuds/Coloured_Rainbow
Summary: “Wait!” Stanford called out, quickly trailing behind Rick. “He isn’t--please, allow me to explain!”“He can explain for himself!” Rick yelled, running up the stairs and down the hall, kicking open the first door he laid eyes on. The door swung open and slammed against the wall, eliciting a small yelp from Stanley, who was busy flipping through a large scrapbook. Rick marched up to where he was sitting on one of the two beds on each side of the room, grabbing him by the collar and lifting him up. Stanley merely stared up at him with wide eyes that Rick didn’t even recognize. “Like to tell me what the fuck’s going on?”“Woah, woah!” Stanley put up his hands defensively, dropping the scrapbook onto the bed beside him. “Stanford, whoisthis lunatic?”





	1. Too little, too late.

**Author's Note:**

> AU where after the apocalypse, Stan doesn't get his memories back. Dipper and Mable go back home, leaving Stan and Ford to live alone in the Mystery Shack, which is now just an ordinary--if not mostly destroyed--home.
> 
> This was a lot of fun to write :) The next chapters will be even better (I hope!)

Letting out a groan, Rick leaned back in his chair, awkwardly shifting his position once again. After a few seconds of tapping his foot and rubbing his temple, he shifted once more.

“Stupid fucking chair, so fucking uncomfortable…” He mumbled, sighing as he sank down in his seat. “...To do: get a new damn chair.”

“R-Rick?” 

Rick swiveled around his his chair, sitting up straight. “Heya, Morty! My favorite grandson.”

“ _Only_ grandson,” Morty softly corrected.

“Uh, right. Whassup? Wanna go _adventuring_? I was just looking over some areas on planet Zeno that have this crystal that turns anything it touches into skin, and--”

“A-Actually, Rick,” Morty squeaked, rubbing his arm. “I was w-wondering if I could just go to school today. I haven’t, uh, haven’t been in a while. So. I wanted to do that. Maybe talk to Jessica, see how she’s doing.”

Rick’s face fell. “Aw, c’mon, Morty. We--W-We haven’t gone out for anything fun in a while.”

“Our definitions of fun are very different.”

“Skin crystals, Morty!”

“I’ll--I’ll pass. I’ll be at school if you need me.” Morty began to turn around, but paused. “But, uh, t-try not to need me today. Because school.”

“Got it,” Rick spat bitterly as Morty closed the garage door behind him.

Letting out another long, disgruntled moan, Rick turned back around in his chair, sinking further down. He tapped his foot in silence for the better part of two minutes before his eyes slowly scrolled over to his portal gun that sat idle on the desk beside him. Glaring at it, he shifted his position again. And again. And again. 

With no warning, Rick suddenly stood up and let out a shout, grabbing the chair by its armrests and chucking it across the room, resulting in knocking over a nearby shelf and all of the contents it held. “Fuck you, chair! _Fuck you!_ You uncomfortable, motherfucker--I never liked you. I’ll find a new fucking chair, no, I’ll _make_ a better chair. And it’ll be the most comfortable chair my ass has ever sat in!” 

Breathing heavily, his eyes subconsciously trailed back over to his portal gun. Once he caught his breath, he let out a sigh and walking over to it, leaning against the desk it sat on. 

“God, Rick,” he grumbled to himself. “When the hell did you lose your nerve?” He paused, shifting his stance. “Just… go say hi. Casual visit. Tell him you need some… skin crystals or something. ‘S’not like-like I’m here for you or anything. Just some awesome fucking skin crystals.’ Not… you.” Trailing off, he anxiously tapped his fingers on his thigh and let out a long, shaky breath. Finally, he nodded to himself and tightly gripped the portal gun’s handle. “Skin crystals. Right.” Pointing the gun at the far wall of the garage, Rick glared to himself as a swirling, green portal took up the view of the shelf he knocked down. After a long, pregnant pause, Rick walked forward and stepped through the window into another universe. 

Looking up as the portal collapsed on itself behind him, he let out a small “holy shit.”

Stan’s shack was obliterated. Half of the entire foundation was ripped off and torn apart; more than half of the letters that wrote “Mystery Shack” had either fallen or been rubbed off, leaving nothing but “M st y a k”; you could see inside at every angle with how many holes there were. The ground outside was disturbed all over, strange craters and holes and streaks from aircrafts crashing surrounded the clearing; even the trees that loomed over the shack were in shreds, many lying on the floor nearby, rotting away. Rick could see that someone had started construction to fix the place on one half, but he could tell that it was the painstaking, slow work of only one set of hands.

After a few dumbfounded moments of gaping at the place, he shook his head and made a break for the place as he shoved his gun into his coat pocket. Rick could excuse himself for a lot of his actions, but not coming back before Stan’s death would be one of the more regrettable ones.

Walking up the front steps, the wooden planks nearly collapsed under even his weight. The previous door was replaced with a shiny new plastic one that stood out like a sore thumb next to the old, weather damaged, peeling walls. Without bothering to knock, Rick grabbed the handle and flung the door open, stumbling inside.

“Stan!” Rick shouted, glancing up the stairs before walking out into the living area. The inside was trashed as well, with the walls and ceiling falling in, but someone had bothered to tidy up the place by cleaning out the debris. Pausing, he called out again. “Stanford! Stan? Hellooooo?”

“Coming!” Rick flinched at the unexpected deep voice that replied. He turned around, listening to the owner of the voice as they stomped down the stairs. “Who goes there? I wasn’t expecting any guests, or I might’ve--” He blinked as Stanford stopped in the doorway, looking Rick over. “I’m sorry, have we met?”

Rick paused. “What the hell is going on here?”

“Uhm, I can’t say I’m sure,” he mumbled, scratching the back of his head.

“Are you…” Rick trailed off, softly shaking his head. “I’m looking for Stanford Pines? He looks, uh… eerily like you, but not as clean.”

“Ah,” Stanford nodded. “You, uh, you’re looking for my brother, Stanley.”

Rick let out a humourless chuckle. “No, no. His name is Stanford. I think you’re confused, buddy. He--He never had a brother.”

Stanford paused before letting out a sigh. “When’s the last time you paid him a visit?”

“I don’t know, maybe ten years ago?” Saying it out loud felt surreal in a way Rick couldn’t pin down. 

“Well, uh, you see…” Stanford’s eyes began to droop in a way where one could tell he had told this story many times. “Over thirty years ago, I went missing. Stanley took over my shack and used it as a secret place where he could look for me while also making money off of his strange attractions. In order not to draw attention, he also took my name. It wasn’t until I recently came back that he embraced his old identity, again.”

Rick listened in silence, his hand softly cracking each knuckle. “Where is he?” He growled sternly.

“Erm, well here’s the thing--”

“S’that fucker here?”

“Woah, calm down! He’s just upstairs, but--”

“Stan!” Rick shouted, pushing past Stanford and stomping back towards the stairs. “Come out, come out, _Stanley_!”

“Wait!” Stanford called out, quickly trailing behind Rick. “He isn’t--please, allow me to explain!”

“He can explain for himself!” Rick yelled, running up the stairs and down the hall, kicking open the first door he laid eyes on. The door swung open and slammed against the wall, eliciting a small yelp from Stanley, who was busy flipping through a large scrapbook. Rick marched up to where he was sitting on one of the two beds on each side of the room, grabbing him by the collar and lifting him up. Stanley merely stared up at him with wide eyes that Rick didn’t even recognize. “Like to tell me what the fuck’s going on?”

“Woah, woah!” Stanley put up his hands defensively, dropping the scrapbook onto the bed beside him. “Stanford, who _is_ this lunatic?”

“Who am I?” Rick asked darkly. “I’m your worst fucken nightmare, _Stanley_ , unless you tell me! What the _hell_! Is going on!!”

“Get off of me!” Stanley shouted helplessly. “Stanford, come on!”

Putting a hand on Rick’s shoulder, Stanford shot him an sympathetic look. “Please, allow me to explain.”

“Get out of here! We’re g-gonna have-have a long talk, him and I. W-We’re gonna--”

“He knew you before,” Stanford said suddenly, making Stanley somewhat tense up even more. 

“Oh,” Stanley’s face twisted up and he glanced over at the scrapbook. “I-I’m sorry. Look, uh. Maybe it’d be better if I just talked to him, Sixer.” Half of Rick’s brow raised as he suddenly took notice of the extra fingers on Stanley’s brother’s hands.

“Perhaps,” Stanford concluded. “But I’ll be nearby in case anything goes wrong.”

Rick glared as Stanford left the room, immediately turning around to face Stanley as the bedroom door quietly closed. “Like to tell me w-what’s going on?”

“Let go of me and we’ll talk,” Stanley said in an oddly soft tone. Rick paused, but slowly did as he asked.

“Look, ah,” Stanley scratched the back of his head. “I-It’s a long story. Maybe you better sit down.”

“I’m _fine_ ,” Rick stated.

“Uh, okay. Well, look. Long story short, you know about the apocalypse, right? You from Gravity Falls?”

“Apocalypse?”

“R-right. Well, this weird triangle dude who could control space and time took over everything.”

“What.”

“I couldn’t make this stuff up if I tried!” Stanley raised his voice defensively. “Believe me, I didn’t think it was true at first either.”

Rick squinted. “Whaddya mean?”

“I _mean_ that this triangle ended up possessing my mind. I trapped him inside and they erased my memory so he would be erased too.”

Rick paused, his fingers anxiously tapping the side of his leg. “...That sounds like bullshit.”

“Well, it’s true,” Stanley shrugged. “I’m sorry. But-But a lot of other people knew me who I don’t remember. I can’t remember anything about my past! You think that doesn’t upset me, too?”

After a long silence, Rick lowered himself down and sat next to him. “Fuck, man. You--Y-You don’t remember anything?”

“...Nothing.”

Rick looked down at his hands, suddenly embarrassed. 

Stanley scratched the back of his neck. “Uhm. Well, hey. How did I know you?”

Rick laughed. “We did everything, together. Just me and Ford. Or I guess Lee, now.”

“...Right. That whole identity thing.”

“Yeah. Right.”

“...What did we do?”

Rick shrugged. “Crimes. We-We were con men. The best damn con men in the world. W-We could’ve made millions, we were so fucking brilliant together.”

“Yeah, I hear a lot about me doin’ illegal stuff.”

“That-That was your whole thing. _Our_ whole thing.”

“I’m, uh, I’m sure it was nice.”

Rick slowly looked over at Stanley, hunching his shoulders a little. He looked a lot more cleaned up than he used to: his hair was neatly trimmed, his clothes were clean, he had a new pair of glasses, even his stubble was shaved off in a nice point. He was still as full bodied as ever though, making one of the corners of Rick’s mouth twitch; some things never change.

Without really thinking about it, Rick instinctively brought a hand up, running it through Stanley’s hair. He gently swallowed at the familiar thickness of it, but couldn’t help but feel a pang of guilt when he noticed the few grey hairs poking out here and there. Piercing his lips, Rick looked down at Stanley’s face only to see how awkward his expression was. 

“Uh,” he mumbled. “Whaddya up to, pal?”

Rick looked over his face one last time before suddenly standing up and grabbing his own hair.

“You’re… You’re really gone.” He said softly before letting out a frustrated shout. “Fuck! God--God fucking damn it!”

Stanley flinched. 

Running a hand over his mouth, Rick mumbled to no one in particular. “I’ll fix this. I’ll find a way to fix this.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please help me [fix my car](https://rainbow-flavoured.tumblr.com/post/177051546870/hey-guys-so-i-know-i-dont-have-many-followers) by commissioning me!!


	2. N/A

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was going to write more of Rick's perspective in this chapter, but decided to split it up so that it didn't take me too long to update ;w; So it's a little shorter than the first chapter, but hey, at least it's an update :P
> 
> Please help me [fix my car](https://rainbow-flavoured.tumblr.com/post/177051546870/hey-guys-so-i-know-i-dont-have-many-followers) by commissioning me!!

His hands over his mouth and his eyes closed in thought, Stanford quietly went over his interaction with that strange man in his head. He didn’t look like anyone he’d seen living in Gravity Falls, and that was saying a lot--his strange blue, spiked hair; his slender body and long legs; Stanford even swore he could see a weapon hanging out of his lab coat pocket. And that was the other strange thing: why was he wearing a labcoat? Was it a mere fashion choice, or had he just come from a lab of sorts? Stanford took time out of his day to go around town and ask where the man had come from, slowing down the already incredibly slow process of fixing the house by his lonesome--he had insisted that he do it himself. He couldn’t stand the sympathetic looks and comments the townsfolk gave him.

After asking around, Stanford was stumped when not a single person recognised his description. He had even resulted in drawing him, but to no avail. It was as if the man had simply just appeared here.There’s no possible way that he could make his way to the shack without walking all the way through town, unless he either gone through the forest that stretched out miles to the next town or climbed down the cliff side, but what man would be so desperate to hide his appearance as to do that? From what Stanford gathered after meeting him, he didn’t exactly seem like the cautious type.

He wished he was able to catch the man’s name, but everything happened so quickly. He was in talking to Stanley for a mere few minutes before he burst out and ran before Stanford could stop him. The fact that he barged in and started demanding information flustered the Stan twins to the point where the first thing on their minds wasn’t finding out the man’s name, but more of what he wanted. What a fool Stanford had been. If they had a name, maybe they could find more information on him. And just like he had entered the town, he somehow left the same way. Stanford had tried to follow him out of the house, but he was gone from the yard by the time he had reached the front door. It wasn’t the weirdest thing that Stanford had witnessed in his time in Gravity Falls, but it was strange that a human had done it. Especially when he seemed to have no other motive than to talk to Stanley. Why would someone use some sort of sorcery to get here just to talk to his brother? 

The gears in both of the brother’s heads for days, but neither of them knew much. Stanley of course didn’t know anything, not having any past knowledge before a few months ago, but neither did Stanford. The man had stated that he hadn’t seen his brother in just 10 years, which means there’s a good chance that they met and departed while Stanford was hopping between dimensions trying to find his way back. So, after days of simply thinking, Stanford decided it might do some good to look through Stanley’s things. He didn’t exactly know why he was so fixated on this--maybe it was nice to just have something to do, especially with his brother--but he was determined to find answers.

So, he and Stanley spent countless hours searching through his room. They searched through boxes and drawers and papers and files and safes, even in the basement below the vending machine, but still nothing. It was as if this man never even existed. If anything, at least Stanford was glad to reconnect with Stanley. Stanford had fun explaining events in pictures and old memories, and was interested to find out more of what happened in his absence. Stanley had really put a lot of effort into making this shack an attraction. Stanford couldn’t lie, he almost felt bad about making Stanley turn the Mystery Shack back into a normal home.

Now it was just a few hours after searching through his brother’s things and they didn’t unearth a single fact about this man. At this point, it seemed like Stanley tried really hard to keep him a secret, even from himself. 

...

_Secret._

Stanford opened his eyes, glaring in thought. 

Stanley was a man of deception; it was what he did for a living. He had even told him that the man had stated they were con men together when they knew each other.

Stanford stood up.

It wasn’t that Stanley didn’t have any information on the man, but just that he hid it somewhere! Since Stanford has been living in the Mystery Shack, he’s found many strange compartments and hideaways that his brother had added in. Most of them were hidden in plain sight, easy to find if one was looking, while others were so intricately placed that Stanford had merely stumbled them by accident. If information on this mystery man was anywhere, it must be in one of the secret areas that Stanford hadn’t discovered yet.

Exclaiming a quick “Aha!” in victory, Stanford pushed away from the desk he had been sitting at and ran from his room, not bothering to pick up the chair he had knocked over in the process. Too excited to even call for Stanley, who he knew was downstairs, Stanford rushed across the hall into his brother’s room and immediately began feeling every surface. He trailed his six fingered hands along the walls and desks and drawers, but found nothing except a small compartment with a stash of emergency cigars. 

Just as Stanford elected that he should check Dipper and Mabel’s previous room, his eyes scrolled over to Stanley’s bed. Walking over next to it from the backside, Stanford kneeled down on all fours, lifting up the blanket that was draped over the side. He couldn’t see anything at first glance, but figured there might be a switch of sorts further back. Leaning down on his elbow, he let out a surprised shout when his elbow sank into the carpet just under the mattress. Quickly recomposing himself, he looked at the patch of carpet in question. There was a small area of the scraggly material cut into a small rectangle covering a holding space that was revealed by yet another accident.

Clever Stanley.

Curiously, Stanford grabbed the edge of carpet that sank inwards and pulled it up. Built beneath the floor was a small, wooden box whose top was glued to the bottom of the floorboards, creating a makeshift compartment. Inside was not exactly what Stanford was expecting--and definitely less than first anticipated--but held clues nonetheless: a ring threaded around a leather necklace, and an envelope.

He cautiously reached down and grabbed the items, first examining the ring. At closer inspection, it was an old, golden band with the simple date of 1994 engraved on it. That was during the period that Stanford was gone, so the date didn’t ring any bells; perhaps it was from a former girlfriend--Stanley tended to have a lot of those, back in the day. 

After a few minutes, he set down the ring and instead began looking over the envelope. All that was on the outside was a name, blatantly written in Stanley’s sloppy handwriting: _Rick_. It was unsealed, so he easily lifted the flap and looked at the envelope’s contents.

Pictures.

Polaroids, to be exact.

His eyes slightly widened as he carefully lifted the pictures out and slowly thumbed through them. 

Sure enough, each photograph consisted the mystery man--sometimes alone and other times next to Stanley as he took the picture. Stanford had to take the guess that they must’ve been very close friends, but as he looked closer, he cocked his head and squinted. The first few pictures seemed normal, but after a few, one could take notice of Stanley wearing the necklaced ring. The photos graduated from them shoplifting and driving and spraypainting to them sitting on the hood of a car at night and walking in the park and watching movies together. Stanford didn’t want to jump to conclusions, but at the sight of one of the photos, he didn't have to. The conclusion was right in front of him.

There, in the last photo, was Stanley and the man--who he had to assume was named Rick at this point--sharing a kiss outside the back of a warehouse. 

Stanford froze, dumbfounded. These photos and this ring did nothing but raise more questions.

He would have never guessed that Stanley was--

“Hey,” Stanley greeted, as if on cue. 

Stanford let out a surprised shout, instinctively shoving everything back into the compartment and draping the carpet back over it.

“S-Stanley!” Stanford laughed, a little too loudly. 

“Uhm,” Stanley raised an eyebrow, leaning against the doorframe. “Whatchya… doin’ in here?”

“Just some tidying,” he lied, unsure of why.

“Well, uh, I made some dinner if you want some: Microwave chicken pot pie.”

“That…” Stanford sighed, standing up. “..doesn’t sound too healthy.”

“It ain’t. But sure as hell tastes good.”

“I’ll-I’ll be down in a moment.”

“Okay. Just… don’t take to long in, uh… _my_ room.”

“Heh… right.”


	3. Rick "MOTHERLOVING" Sanchez

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nothing was working.  
> He's the greatest scientist in the fucking multiverse. He should be able to figure this out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ,,,istg this was supposed to be like 2 chapters long kdbdndbskjed

Nothing was working.

He had devices for putting captured memories back in people minds, memory _erasing_ devices, _false_ memory devices--but nothing, _nothing_ that could bring back Stan’s memories. It made no goddamn sense. His memories should be _somewhere_ inside that mind of his, but nothing he did could bring back erased thoughts and memories that he hadn’t stored somewhere first.

He’s the greatest scientist in the fucking multiverse. He should be able to figure this out.

Angrily mumbling to himself, Rick threw yet another failed device into a nearby trash can before letting out a frustrated shout. “Fuck!” he exclaimed, making a surprised Summer flinch just as she entered the garage. 

“Uuuuuh, hey, Grampa Rick.”

“...Hey, Summer,” Rick huffed in response.

Summer watched him closely as he walked back over to his desk, flattening out a new, blank blueprint. “So, like,” she shrugged, “what’s up with you?”

“Nothing. Just busy.”

She snorted. “Uh, _please_. You haven’t come out of your garage in, like, a week. Mom keeps asking about you.”

“T-Tell her I’m fine,” he demanded sternly, his voiced laced with sarcastic sweetness. “Grandpa’s really busy.”

Squinting, Summer walked over next to him and leaned against the counter. After a few seconds of looking him over, her eyes widened. “Oh my god. You’re acting just like Cambri did when she broke up with Jake. She was all mad at me for no reason and locked herself in her room for, like, a month. She didn’t even check anyone’s Snapchat--except for Jake’s. She ignored my calls and got really pissed when people told her to get over it. She was, like, obsessed with this idea that it was all her fault and that she could still fix it, y’know? And I’m like, “Cambri. Freaking get a life and move on. He’s way over you, girl.’”

Rick paused before looking over at Summer with a bored expression. “Was I s-supposed to learn something from that?”

“No,” Summer stated. “You’re supposed to tell me who the hell broke your heart.”

“No offense, _Summer_ ,” he glared, “but I’m not a 16 year old girl who can’t handle a little heartbreak.”

“But like… there is _someone_ then.”

“No! L-Look, jesus…” he sighed. “The point is that I’m an _adult_ and have _real_ problems. No, there isn’t anyone.”

“A likely story,” she smirked, watching Rick as he mumbled to himself and started scribbling concept sketches on his blueprint paper. 

After a few moments of silence, he looked up to see Summer leaning in a little closer to him. “Wh-What the hell are you still doing here? I’m really fucken busy, p-probably saving the universe or something, and you’re--”

“Your breath smells good.”

Rick stopped in place. “Wh-What? What the fuck does that have to do with-with anything?”

“Have you drinken today?” When Rick hesitated, stumbling to find a response, Summer sucked in a sharp gasp. “Holy fuck, you’re sober!”

“What? N-No, Summer, I haven’t been sober since--”

“You are! You haven’t burped _once_ since I’ve been in here--or even reached for a flask.”

“God!” Rick exclaimed. “S’this what ya want? If I take a-a fucking drink, will you leave me--” He paused, his hand scrambling for something that was no longer in his pocket. He looked down, patting his pockets frantically before shuffling around his papers in search of his usual flask.

“Oh my god!” She shouted. “You don’t even have a drink within arms distance?!”

“Summer!” Rick flailed his arms around in search of words. “Wh--I could really deal without you fucking ps-ps-psycshoanalyzing me!”

“Grampa, you--”

“No!” He yelled, still searching under blueprints and machinery. “Sh-Shut up, and get the fuck out of my garage!”

“No! Like, we can talk about this!”

“Get! Out!”

“Tell me who hurt you! I deal with--”

“Who hurt _me?!_ ” Rick screeched, his voice violently cracking. Summer flinched when he threw down the papers he was holding and faced her. “People don’t hurt me! I fucking hurt _them_! I’m the s-smartest guy in the fucking _universe!_ Things stop when I _want_ them to stop! Things _start_ when I want them to start! It’s m- _my_ fucking choice! _No one_ hurts Rick motherfucking Sanchez!”

Summer paused, listening to Rick’s angry, heavy breathing. “...Jesus, Grampa. You--”

“No. ‘Me,’ nothing.”

She glared. “I can help, you know. It’s okay to ask for help sometimes. If you’re hurting, you can’t always--”

“I’m not hurting!” Summer visibly winced at the pleading tone in his voice. “I’m fine! I’ve been doing just fucking dandy, _Summer!_ I’ve been drinking and working and going to universes and-and finding skin crystals! You know--I forgot about those skin crystals! I-I’ll just head over to Zeno, and--”

“Rick--”

“ _I_ FUCKING LEFT _HIM! I’M_ FINE!” Rick’s screaming rang throughout the garage, and he winced when his words echoed back at him.

There was a long, pregnant pause.

Summer opened and closed her mouth a few times before settling on a simple, “...Him?”

Sucking in a sharp breath, Rick finally angrily stomped over to his shelf and pulled out a device. Ignoring Summer as she suddenly started berading him with questions, he pointed the device at her and pulled the trigger, encapsulating her in a body-sized bubble. She punched and kicked at the barrier, but Rick disregarded her muffled shouts as he opened up the garage door and pushed her out. He didn’t bother to watch as the bubble she was in floated into the sky, headed off to pop and set her free just less than a mile from here; He simply closed back up the door, walked to the back of the garage, and sighed as he spotted his silver flask sitting on top of one of his shelves near the door.

He silently picked up the flask, plopped down on the concrete floor, and leaned back against his desk drawers. Uncapping the flask, he pressed the opening against his lips and took his first drink in just over a week.

It tasted stale.


	4. This ain't no fairytale.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Looking up, Stanford subconsciously let his mouth hang open at the sight of a swirling pool of green light. He watched as a foot was plunged through the middle of the pool, and following the foot, an entire person emerged: the man Rick. 
> 
> As quickly as ithe portal appeared, Stanford watched as the pool of light in front of him swallowed itself and fled from existence as he pocketed a gun.
> 
> “Oh, hey,” Rick rasped. "We need to talk.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aw man, this took me too long to get back to. Sorry guys, I just havent been in it lately. Hopefully more chapters will come out soon, though! I got a burst of inspiration from rewatching Gravity Falls, so hopefully itll last enough to finish this up. I've been sitting on the first fourth of this chapter for a while and finally figured out how to complete it :P

Quietly humming to himself, Stanford leaned back and pridefully glanced over his work. Now marked his fourth and final hour of planting an array of flowers just outside the shack. After Weirdmageddon, the Earth outside was torn to shreds from everything that got dragged through the waves of weirdness, leaving the yard… less than pleasing to look at. Stanford had enough of a reminder of what happened with Stanley around, and he didn’t feel like having it shoved in his face even more when he simply stepped outside. So he got a shovel, flattened out the ground, bought a fresh batch of fertilizer, and got to planting. 

He bought some of his favorite flowers--hibiscus rosa-sinensis, chrysanthemums, lilium--and had a fun time confusing Stanley with their scientific names. Stanford thought it was quite funny how frustrated Stanley got when he refused to simply call them lilies or roses. Some things never change.

At first, Stanford thought it fit to simply plant seeds since Spring was approaching so soon (there was something really special and gratifying about watching plants grow and tending to them yourself), but decided that he would settle for buying ones that had already bloomed. He couldn’t stand to wait for this place to look at least a little nicer. The red and purple and white of the flowers he had already planted were looking really good, if he did say so himself. Now all he had left were the gentians.

Stanford paused, glancing them over.

When he had been flower shopping, he laughed at the fact that these particular blue flowers reminded him of Rick--that strange, mystery man. He had done this activity as a way to forget about such things, but he couldn’t help but buy them--their strange curled, deep blue petals resembling his wild hair. After that, he couldn’t help but spend time finding flowers that reminded him of himself and Stanley as well. It was actually pretty therapeutic. 

Chuckling at his cleverness, he leaned forward on his knees and began to reach for--

Stanford cut his thoughts short at a strange warbling noise. Looking up, he subconsciously let his mouth hang open at the sight of a swirling pool of green light; it sputtered and spinned almost hypnotically, making his initial reaction to just stare in wonderment. Before he had time to fully snap out of his trance, he watched as a foot was plunged through the middle of the pool, resembling the breaking of the surface of water--glistening green and yellow embers floating up and away before disappearing, like watching leaves fall in reverse. Following the foot, an entire person emerged: the man Rick. He looked unphased by the magnificent phenomenon, stepping onto the grass like he was simply entering through a doorway. In his hand he held a gun, the same green light from what seemed to be a wormhole of sorts twirling around in a small glass vile on top of the weapon. 

As quickly as it appeared, Stanford watched as the pool of light in front of him swallowed itself and fled from existence, leaving nothing but the man Rick to look down at him as he pocketed his gun.

“Oh, hey,” Rick rasped as he took a step closer to Stanford, who was still helplessly kneeling down next to his flowers. “We need to talk.”

🌀 🌀 🌀

Stanley couldn’t help that he didn’t have his memories, but he constantly felt like it was his fault. He couldn’t talk to a single person in town without getting apologetic glances and condescending tones, like he had reverted back into that of a child. It was true that he couldn’t remember his past in detail, but he still knew things; He was still a grown adult who could take a hint and spend and earn money and locate a book at the library, but everyone seemed to think that he didn’t know anything anymore. After a while, he gave up trying to get people to treat him like a normal person, so he no longer gets upset when people explain how to complete simple, everyday tasks or lower their voices and side glance at him at the mention of anything serious.

Every once in while, something would slip from his mouth that he apparently used to say before, like a nickname or a reference, but nothing else came back beyond that. He hated seeing the hopeful look in people’s eyes when he called his brother “Sixer” or when he said that he liked a restaurant that used to be his favorite. It was so frustrating because his memories were lingering in front of him and “they will come back any day now,” but they never do.

He doesn’t particularly care about getting his memories back except for the fact that if he doesn’t, he’ll be letting the whole town down. He just wants to get a job and start living the fresh life he has, but everyone wants Stanley Pines back so badly. 

He sounds like a really good guy, and who is he to keep him away from them?

At some point, it became more like solving a mystery than anything. He wasn’t looking for himself, but a man who went missing: someone he needs to find. It almost scared him. If he found Stanley, what would happen to him? Would this version of his consciousness be taken over by his old memories? Maybe it didn’t make a lot of sense, but it seemed like when Stanley came back that he--whoever he is--might disappear. But maybe that’s worth it because Stanley seems like a much better guy than him. 

So, he spends hours searching through scrapbooks and scaping the town and talking to people he used to know in hopes of regaining any of his memories. Stanford swears that he’ll remember everything soon enough, but with each passing day, believing in that becomes a little harder. 

That was until that man showed up. That man with the blue hair. He was only here for a matter of minutes and Stanley never even got his name, but he managed to spark up more familiarity than anyone or anything else he had encountered. When he first walked in the door and started yelling, he didn’t notice. It was only when he sat down next to him and ran his hands through his hair as he looked Stanley over with glossy, familiar eyes. 

So familiar. 

Just like his brother was when he hugged Stanley before bed, or when the girl with the lazy eye at the diner smiled and patted his shoulder, or when his grandkids squeezed him tightly one last time before heading home in tears. They were all so, so familiar but he couldn’t pinpoint the memories no matter how hard he tried. He couldn’t help it. He could feel nothing but small wisps of emotion. A flutter of contentment. A speckle of resentment. Nothing more. 

This man might be the answer, though. If he could feel so much in a few minutes of being with him, maybe it would all come back if they just sat down and talked. He and Stanford had been searching for days now and wasn’t even the smallest hint that this guy ever existed. It was so frustrating having yet another thing that Stanley couldn’t quite grasp and this time the deja vu was so much more prominent; there was so much heartache and emotion in the old man’s tone that Stanley could practically see the memories flashing behind his eyes. It was just all blurry and out of focus. 

Stanley let out a frustrated groan, plopping down on the living room recliner. 

He had been straining his brain all day and figured he needed a break. Trying so desperately to remember was probably doing the opposite of what he intended. His hunt for himself could wait a few hours while he put up his feet and fell asleep to the television. 

He’d look for Rick when he woke up, after drifting off to the sweet sound of modern television. He hoped that old Stanley liked cheesy soap operas as much as he did because he would hate to leave that hobby behind. 

…

“What the fuck.” Stanley couldn’t help but say the exclamation out loud. 

What did he say? Rick?

He tested the name a few times on his tongue and he didn’t like the bitter taste that followed. Saying the word felt wrong, but familiar nonetheless. Despite that, he couldn’t help but grow a grin on his face. 

The guy’s name was Rick! He remembered! That had to be the clearest, most blatant thing that he had _ever_ remembered. It had always been feelings, never specific details. Never names. 

Stanley hopped up off the couch as fast as his body would let him and made a start for the door. He couldn’t help but be overwhelmed by gleeful anxiety and excitement. 

He had to tell Stanford.

🌀 🌀 🌀

“Incredible.” Stanford let out a long exhale as he turned over the portal gun and examined it for the umpteenth time. “You’ve perfected it; able to travel to specific points in time at your request. This--I attempted a similar mechanism for years and didn’t come close to even stabilizing it.”

“I’m the smartest man in the multiverse, so… don’t take it too personally.”

“Is that a self-given title?”

“Trust me,” Rick mumbled, impatience creeping into his tone. “I earned it.” With a sigh, he snatched back the gun. “With that out of the way--”

“I’ll definitely be looking at that later--”

“Let’s get to business.” Rick ran a hand through his hair as his other holstered his portal gun. “I-I’ve been trying to find a way to craft a memory restoring device, but it-it’s almost impossible to without having pre-stored memories.” Rick couldn’t help but wince on the word ‘impossible.’ “Do you-you--Stan mentioned that you guys erased his mind with a device. Do you still have the little shit?”

Stanford frowned thoughtfully. “No, we don’t. We destroyed it shortly after we… none of us wanted it to fall into the wrong hands. We smashed it with a hammer and--” he paused at worried look on Ricks face. “--well it didn’t store memories, anyhow! It simply erased them and--”

“Memories are _matter,_ you fucking…” Rick took a deep breath, trying his best not to result to name-calling. Being sober really did help him think things through better. “Memories. Are matter. It’s-It’s energy. They can’t be erased, just pulled from a mind.”

“Well, I know that,” Stanford mumbled defensively. 

“If you knew that, then you wouldn’t have destroyed the device!” Rick couldn’t help but raise his voice. “There-there could’ve been particles of memory in there! Gateways of thoughts that could lead to him regaining all of his--we-we need something to build on! We can’t regain his memory from scratch, that’s not how it fucking works! The best I could do was fabricate false memories and th-that’s mostly just temporary.”

“I thought that through,” Stanford hissed sternly through his teeth. “But I don’t have technology anywhere nearly advanced enough to complete such a task.”

“But I do!”

“I’m sorry that I didn’t factor in my brother’s magical boyfriend!” Stanford huffed, folding his arms, ignoring Rick’s jolt at the term. “I know how to get his memories back.”

“Pray fucking tell,” Stanford jolted in return at the dark look on Rick’s face. 

“The memory gun was a powerful device, but the human mind is far stronger. Stanley remembers bits of feelings and ideas. They’re just… not within his reach. We need to bring them closer, we need to… jumpstart his mind, for lack of a better term.”

“Jumpstart his mind.”

“Yes. If--I believe that if we find a memory strong enough, actions or feelings or words that he can recognize, that it could provoke his--why are you laughing?”

Rick was, indeed, laughing. It was a harsh, unhumourous laugh, but a laugh all the same. “This isn’t a fucking fairytale,” he rasped, his throat suddenly feeling very dry. “You think that I’m gonna sweep the motherfucker off of his feet and and give him a kiss and he’s just gonna return to normal? What, am I gonna have to wear a fucking wedding dress, too? M-Maybe I’ll-I’ll put him in a suit and invite the whole family, we’ll throw a bigass party with the whole village! Whoopty-fucking-do, happily ever after!” 

Stanford felt reluctant heat rising to his cheeks. He had really thought for a long time that something like that would happen, and it suddenly dawned on him how ridiculous the idea actually was. 

“S’not happening,” Rick continued. “We’re solving this problem with good ol’ motherfucking, reliable science.”

“And how’s that working out for you.” 

Before Rick could answer, a deep voice called out for Stanford. Rick cursed, taking a step back. He didn’t think he was ready for another encounter just yet.

“Stanley?” Stanford turned around and called back. “Stanley, is something wrong?”

“I remembered--I was sitting on the couch and it came to me! I was thinking about this soap opera and--a-anyway, his name is Rick! Haha!”

Rick froze in place at the sound of his name. It had been ten long years since he heard that name on Stanley’s lips. God, he missed him and admitting that to himself was like a bullet to the gut. Why did he ever leave?

“It’s not much, but that’s a start, right?” As Stanley turned the corner of the house to greet his brother, he paused at the sight of Rick behind him. “Oh you’re--you two talkin’? Jeez we were--we were looking for weeks! Where did you find him?”

“He came to… me,” Stanford glanced back, taking an almost comical doubletake at the sight of Rick’s eyes watering. There was something childish in him that almost took Stanford’s idea to heart, and an even more childish part of him that was scared to. He would wonder how Stanford knew that he and Stanley used to be in a relationship, but with how careless he’d been recently, he wasn’t too surprised. Something about that old man made him weak. It was so tempting to give into the idea of holding Stanley close and planting a kiss on his lips and having him regain his memories and it made Rick so angry that he was even considering it. 

“Rick I--oh.” Stanley cleared his throat. “Well--I actually need to talk to Rick. To you. Uh, Rick. I need to talk to you, Rick.” He sure was saying his name a lot.

“Yeah, I…” Rick winced at the soft crack in his voice. “I know. We should, uh… fuck. Yeah. we should talk.” It was embarrassing how much composure he lost around him. At first he was angry--angry that he didn’t remember--but that anger quickly faded to sadness at the thought that he was forgettable in the first place. “C’mon, can we--let’s go inside. I need to sit down and…” For probably the first time in his life, drinking didn’t seem appealing at all. Just goes to show you what Stanley Pines can do to a man. “I need some water. Got a bad fucking case of cottonmouth.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so excited for the next chapter eheh. Many fluff, but even more angst :)) be prepared for lots of pa i n.

**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoyed reading this, be sure to stop by [my art blog](https://angstflavoured.tumblr.com) for more art and stories!


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